Emotion, Yet Peace
by Esther Huffleclaw
Summary: Jedi Initiate Steve Rogers is last in almost every class in the Temple, and he has almost lost hope that he will ever be a padawan.
1. Be Careful

The training room was empty, just as Steve liked it. All the other initiates were still at supper, but he had eaten quickly and slipped away to come here. He needed the practice.

A training lightsaber in hand, he activated several droids and set the difficulty as high as possible. There was no point in making it easy on himself. He would never improve without a challenge. He dropped into a crouch as the droids circled, his blade held up before himself, its soft blue glow reassuring.

They all rushed him at once, from all sides, and he spun wildly, his saber sweeping out around him. A satisfying shiver ran up his arms as he connected with one, but his elation was short-lived as the rest converged on him, knocking him to the mat face first. His right arm and saber had gotten trapped beneath him, so he used that arm to push himself and roll over onto his back. Saber arm now free, he grimly defended himself.

He managed to keep them back at first, but it took all his concentration, not sparing any for getting back up to his feet. So he stayed down, struggling to breathe. His lungs always felt compressed when he lay flat on his back. The healers were working on it, but he still needed to be propped up on several pillows before he could sleep at night.

Lack of oxygen slowed his movements and the droids moved in as if sensing his distress. Panic closed in, and he tried to remind himself that this was merely a training session, but his stupid lungs wouldn't listen. Darkness crept in from the edges of his vision and spots danced erratically before his eyes.

He now held the training saber in both hands, yet one of the droids reached out a metal arm and easily knocked it out of his grip. He heard it clatter on the floor somewhere to his right and he raised his fists, determined to go down fighting.

The blue blade reappeared above him, sweeping through the droids, sending them flying. Then a figure loomed over him, a familiar expression of long-suffering gracing his face. Bucky reached a hand out to pull Steve to his feet. "Sometimes I think you like getting hit."

Steve accepted the help, gasping for air as he got his feet under him again. "I had them on the run," he wheezed.

Bucky rolled his eyes. "Sure you did." He threw his arm around Steve's shoulders companiably, but Steve didn't miss that he was also helping him walk. Torn between gratitude and injured pride, Steve almost pushed away, insisting he could walk on his own… but he couldn't. Perhaps such a high difficulty setting on the droids hadn't been a good idea after all. Bucky eyed him with worry. "If you keep this up, you're gonna undo all the healers have done for you."

Steve rolled his eyes. "I know. I know. No knight will take me on as padawan if I can't breathe." He shook his head. "The thing is, no knight will take me on as padawan if I can't fight either."

Bucky squeezed his shoulder. "Speaking of…" He trailed off, but his excitement glowed through the Force, nearly blinding.

Steve stopped and jerked around to face him. "Did you get chosen?" Bucky nodded, and Steve grabbed his shoulders, a grin spreading across his face. "That's wonderful! Who?"

An answering grin spread across Bucky's face, his eyes lighting up. "Master Phillips." He sobered. "We leave for Chandrila tomorrow."

Steve stepped back, his hands falling to his sides. He nodded, unable to maintain his smile. He was happy for his friend, but selfishly wished he was going with him. Maybe this was good, though. Their teachers had never approved of the close friendship between the two boys; attachment, after all, was forbidden for Jedi. Time apart would allow them to learn how to let go of that attachment.

Bucky threw his arm around Steve's shoulders again, propelling him along the vaulted hallway. "By the time I get back, you'll have a master too. You'll see."

Steve shrugged, his eyes on his booted toes. "'Course I will." He didn't really believe it, though. "Or, the Service Corps isn't so bad."

"Hey, Steve." Bucky stopped and turned the smaller boy to face him. With his hands on Steve's shoulders, he looked him in the eye. "The knights and masters who don't want you—they're idiots. And there are many important jobs in the Service Corps. You'll be okay."

Steve nodding, looking down at his boots again. "Yeah."

Bucky shook him gently. "Don't anything _else _stupid until I get back."

Steve couldn't help grinning, raising his eyes again to Bucky's. "How can I? You're taking all the stupid with you."

Bucky snorted. "Peedunkey."

"Koochoo." Steve shook his head, tears stinging the backs of his eyes. "Be careful."

* * *

_A/N: Peedunkey is Huttese for punk, and koochoo is Huttese for idiot._


	2. The Code

At first, Steve thought that the figure watching him was another initiate, and his cheeks burned with embarrassment. Sure, he'd managed to dispatch the training droids this time, but it had been very difficult, and he was drenched in sweat and panting. As he got to his feet—he always ended up laid out on the floor at the end of these exercises—he got a better look at his audience, and realized that the little Jedi wore a full beard and no Padawan braid.

His embarrassment even worse now, Steve stood and bowed. "Master Jedi."

The Jedi inclined his head. "Initiate Rogers, is it? I am Master Abra'im Erskine." His voice was musical, almost as if he were singing the words.

Steve nodded, trying not to stare. Master Erskine looked human, except for his stature. He was nearly exactly the same height as Steve, yet was clearly much older than twelve. If he were to hazard a guess, Steve would say he must be a Bimm.

Master Erskine clasped his hands behind his back and eyed Steve thoughtfully. "Where are you from, Initiate Rogers?"

Steve mirrored the posture, hands behind his back, spine straight. "Tatooine, Master Erskine."

Nodding at the droids, Master Erskine asked, "How often do you come in here to train alone?"

"Every day, Master Jedi." And he was getting better. Slowly.

Master Erskine nodded again. "Why?"

Steve swallowed, his gaze dropping to the toes of his boots. "I have trouble in class, Master Erskine," he admitted. "I need the practice."

"Hmmm. I see." There was a long moment of silence, and Steve raised his eyes, meeting the master's piercing gaze. There was always something unnerving about a Jedi's eyes, but Master Erskine's gaze was tempered with a warmth he was unused to seeing in the Temple. "And why do you want to learn to fight, Initiate Rogers?"

Steve took a deep breath. "I want to help others, to protect them."

Master Erskine's beard twitched upward with his smile. "Good. I'll speak to the Council." He turned and left the room, leaving Steve gaping after him.

Hope flared to life as Steve stared at the door. With less than a year remaining to be chosen as a padawan, he had almost become resigned to joining the Service Corps. But if he had understood Master Erskine correctly, he might yet have a chance. If he did, he would take it.

* * *

Jedi Master Abra'im Erskine shook his head, his eyes scanning the Council members. "Do you really think the boy will be better off in the Service Corps than under my influence?"

Master Hand leaned forward, a small frown on her smooth face. "You speak as if the Service Corps were to be avoided at all costs, Master Abra'im."

Abra'im bowed toward her. "My apologies, Master Victoria. I meant no offense. The Service Corps has its place, to be sure, and there is no shame in being a member." As he straightened, he glanced at the other masters in the half circle, none of whom had served in the Corps, of course. Neither had he, but of course no master had. In order to someday be a master, a Jedi must first be a Padawan.

"Initiate Rogers is not strong in the Force," Master Sitwell said, stroking his chin with the knuckles of one hand. "He is last in nearly all of his classes."

With an effort, Abra'im managed not to roll his eyes. Instead, he merely raised an eyebrow. "He is my choice, not yours. I am looking for qualities beyond the tangible."

"Yes, of course you are," Master Pierce said quietly. "Emotions and attachment; that's what you would teach him, isn't it, Master Abra'im? That leads only to chaos and darkness."

Closing his eyes, Abra'im allowed a sigh to escape his lips. He smoothed his beard and nodded stiffly to Pierce. "There's the crux of the matter, isn't it? You are afraid that I will corrupt the boy." A ripple of unease went through the Council members. "Yes, I said 'afraid.' You can pretend all you want, but I can see through you."

"We don't deny our emotions, Master Abra'im," Master Fari said, his chin cupped in his palm. "Neither do we welcome them. We release them to the Force where they cannot do us—or others—harm."

This was an old argument that Abra'im was frankly tired of having. The Jedi had believed for generations that emotions and attachments were dangerous, and he would never convince them otherwise. He raised his chin, his shoulders back, drawing himself up to his full—still diminutive—height. "And what harm can Rogers do? You've seen his records; you've said it yourself; he is not strong in the Force." He took a deep breath. "I have chosen him, and I will train him, without or without your permission."

There was a sense of all twelve Council members taking a sharp intake of breath at once. Master Pierce spoke first, his voice sharp. "You would defy this Council?"

Abra'im met his eyes, unblinking. "If I have to, Master Alexander, yes. I would." He swept his gaze over the other eleven masters, and spread his hands in a placatory gesture. "I would prefer your blessing, though."

Grand Master Carter raised a hand for silence, her thoughtful gaze on Abra'im. "This defiance will not serve you well, Master Abra'im. Yet, I sense that Initiate Rogers will do well as your Padawan. You have our blessing."

Abra'im grinned at the mixed emotions he sensed from the rest of the Council, but merely bowed to the grand master. "My thanks, Master Pegi."

* * *

Abra'im knocked at Steve Rogers' door, bouncing a little on the balls of his feet and humming to himself as he waited. The door opened, and the boy stared at him, hope warring with resignation in his eyes as if he was mentally preparing himself to be rejected. How many times had this kid been disappointed? Not wanting to make him suffer a moment longer, Abrai'm said, "The Council has given me permission to train you."

Steve blinked and his mouth fell open. Abra'im could feel his joy flare up in the Force, but just as quickly it was smothered. "Thank you, Master Erskine."

It was all he could do not to hug the him right there in the hallway. "Please. Call me Master Abra'im. May I come in?"

"Of course, Master Abra'im." Steve stepped back, and Abra'im could feel his embarrassment as he entered the small room, though it was tamped down as quickly as the joy had been. While he may be last in most of his classes, the boy had learned to sublimate his emotions already. Steve bit his lip. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Just one?" Abra'im sat on the straight-backed wooden chair by the cot, his lips twitching with amusement.

Steve nodded, his expression serious. "Why me?"

Abra'im stroked his beard thoughtfully. "I suppose that is the only question that matters." He gestured for Steve to sit on the cot. "I don't know if you've heard the tales they tell of me?" At Steve's headshake, he continued, "The Council and I don't exactly see eye-to-eye." He clasped his hands in his lap and sighed. "I don't believe they interpret the Code correctly, and they call me a fool and a heretic."

"No, Master—!" Steve started up from his seat, and Abra'im smiled, reaching over to pat his shoulder until he sat down again. And still he looked as if he would leap to his feet at any provocation, ready to defend his master.

Yes, he had definitely made the right choice in this boy. "You see, Steve, the Code as taught today has changed from its inception. Originally, it went:

'_Emotion, yet peace.  
Ignorance, yet knowledge.  
Passion, yet serenity.  
Chaos, yet harmony.  
Death, yet the Force.'_"

Abra'im watched Steve intently. "Do you see?"

Steve nodded slowly. "They didn't say those things don't exist."

"Yes! Very good, my padawan!" Abra'im grinned and Steve smiled back at him, lighting up the room with his elation, a nearly blinding flare of pure power. Those fools, who had said this boy was not strong in the Force! "I don't believe that emotion is something to be suppressed, or even 'released to the Force,' as no doubt you have been taught." He shook his finger warningly. "But you must be careful. Through the Force, good emotion becomes great; bad becomes worse. This is why I chose you." He leaned forward and put his hand on Steve's shoulder again. "You see Steve, someone who has known power all his life will lose respect for that power. But someone who has to work hard for it knows the value of strength, and knows compassion."

"I see." Steve's brow furrowed. "I think."


End file.
